she's there
in the full moon
& the beat of the rhythm

she's there
in the way the music works
like she played those notes

she's there
in the lyrics & how
the words rhyme

she's there
around my head with the sounds
that make a melody

there she is
dancing in death &
still present

a gift you unwrap
passing the parcel
underneath layers

she's there
in the core of a package
& I miss her

& I keep on missing her
but she's there
in everything I do

she tells me
what to do and what to say
as I play

records we liked together
then it's time
to turn off the radio

that she listened to
between the pain from the bones
& the liver ache

they zapped & they radiated
until none of that worked
but she stayed

until that never happened
& nurses attended
in a room with a view

of a sandstone wall
where men sold their stuff
all those years ago

planting seeds that corroded
every part of her
while she crocheted

her way out of some
kind of abyss
that I can't help but miss

then she spoke of
smoking with that lady
who knew me better

than any other woman,
on a night in August
with the moon full

I feel you
wandering through my own
meanderings

that I can't understand
you
keep asking questions

without answers
so I type & I rewrite
the story of you

a woman of substance
who makes me shed
tears

for what might have been
but never was
then that final breath